


once upon a midnight

by lilibug



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Body Modification, Bratty!Betty, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hair-pulling, Hunter!Betty, Light BDSM, Lots of teeth, Mild Blood, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Predator/Prey, Rough Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Supernatural Elements, Werewolf!Jughead, a primal fuckfest if i ever saw one, aka just filthy smut, sex pollen is the culprit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 06:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibug/pseuds/lilibug
Summary: By the pricking of my thumbs… something wicked this way comes.Her mother always said to never cross into Greendale after midnight, but her trail was fresh and her mind made up. She was going to catch this werewolf by the skin of her teeth if that’s what it took.Or perhaps he was going to catch her.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 31
Kudos: 282
Collections: 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards — Winners!, Tricks and Treats of Riverdale





	once upon a midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cattycooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattycooper/gifts), [theheavycrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheavycrown/gifts).

> for [@riverdale-events](https://riverdale-events.tumblr.com) tricks or treats halloween event. beta by [@bettycooper](https://bettycooper.tumblr.com) & [@theheavycrown](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com) (who made this wicked header!). inspo taken from jughead the hunger vs vampironica.

The full moon looms high overhead, blotting out the stars in a pervasive glare until the sky is an uncanny, inky blue. An eerie haze creeps along the perpetual fog that covers the ground. Tonight, it hides the bloody paw prints etched in the earth, but Betty can smell the trail of fresh blood as clear as day, the copper hot on her tongue.

She chokes it down, swallowing thickly as gravel crunches under the heel of her boot. The air feels different in Greendale—heavy and suffocating; its tendrils wrapping around each of her limbs and weighing—pulling—her down as if to trap her in the fog for eternity. The hairs are raised along the back of her neck for good reason, she surmises.

The trail she had been following carved off from the highway a ways back, veering sharply into the thick mess of trees. She hadn't reached the mortuary yet, and part of her breathes a sigh of relief at that. Dealing with the Spellmans isn't on the agenda tonight.

_You shouldn't be here_, the voice in the back of her mind echoes again, reminiscent of her mother's usual tone, but she's come this far—had even gotten a hit into the werewolf's shoulder—and can still smell the sulfur and steel of the gunpowder mixing with his blood. He's close.

Nothing can stop her now.

Stepping over a vine, she inspects the clearing ahead with a critical eye. The forest edges are empty from what she can catalogue, and the clearing itself is as well. The petals of some wildflowers can be seen reaching above the fog in the very middle. Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth. _Ominous_.

Betty removes her finger from the trigger of the revolver in her hand, lowering it from her line of sight while crouching down to rest a knee on the ground. The milkshake charm looped around the top of the grip settles against her wrist as she flexes her fingers—stiff from holding the firearm for so long.

A faint breeze ruffles through her hair, blowing the length of her ponytail across the thin fabric over her shoulders. The air wasn’t as chilled as usual, but she should have worn a jacket. In her haste, she hadn’t thought to grab more than her gun before bolting out the door.

Sniffing at the air, Betty hugs an arm close to her chest, counting the seconds. It's almost the end of the witching hour, and she has eleven minutes before this werewolf changes back to its human form.

As if on cue, a howl cracks across the silence in the air, startling her.

Her jaw clenches, teeth grinding until her cheek aches. He's taunting her.

The smell of him fills her nose, stronger than before. The scent of singed fur, blood, earth, and musk is so pungent that she half expects to find him breathing down her neck. An urge to turn tickles her nerves—she slides her finger back over the trigger.

Taking a breath in, she closes her eyes for a short moment, building her courage and tamping down the nerves which have her heart threatening to burst from her chest. On the exhale, she stands.

It's All Hallows Eve and Reggie Mantle is dead, his body torn apart by the jaws of a werewolf.

Bloodlust runs rampant in those still young under the moon, but it's no excuse. She has to put him down for breaking the accords.

Betty steps carefully, avoiding brush and dry grass as best she can. Though, when she walks into the clearing, it's apparent that she has a very large target on her back—no matter how silent she is.

The flowers become more visible as she draws closer, and her eyes widen as she takes in what had looked like shadows from afar—blood, decorating the deep purple petals like rain droplets. The air changes, smell turning cloying and sweet, and there's something _wrong_—

There's a snout at her neck, nose wet and practically dripping, as a huff feathers over her shoulder.

Her mom was going to kill her if this werewolf didn't beat her to it.

"Fuck me," she hisses under her breath before picking up her foot and slamming the heel of her boot down against the large paw just behind her. Her elbow thrusts back in a jab that connects with his solid form. A yelp is forced from his mouth, air huffing out before it evolves into a growl.

Her knee bends, shoulders dipping down as she pushes off the ground to _run,_ because her brain has suddenly decided this was probably the worst idea she's had since befriending a vampire.

Something wraps around the swish of her ponytail, yanking her back before she can flee.

Scalp screaming, Betty groans as her back hits the ground, air leaving her lungs in a rush. Then, she's staring up at the object of the cat-and-mouse game they've been playing for the last three hours.

He's angry, nearly frothing at the mouth, but she can't really blame him. Once she manages to gulp in a breath, she brings her hand straight up and pulls the trigger.

The gunshot rings in her ears, arm jolting from the kickback. She scrambles, turning over onto her stomach, rising to her knees first, and then, stumbling to her feet. She blinks through the loose hair falling into her face, gun re-trained on him in an instant. Her hands are shaking.

He's hunched over, angling away from her when his shoulders seem to broaden even farther. He takes in a quiet breath that sounds like a whimper. There's a patch of blood-matted fur over his shoulder, and she sees now that she’d only grazed him before.

When his head lifts, his ears are standing at attention, and one is missing a chunk at the corner.

_God dammit_.

She pulls the trigger, aiming for his chest, but the gun only clicks, the next bullet failing to rotate into place. Panic fills her, skin prickling up even more as she stares at the gun for a moment too long and then looks back to the werewolf to find him down on all fours—close. His arm flies out, hand wrapping around her ankle, and he's pulling on her again.

Her bottom hits first, and her head bangs off the ground. Then, he's _dragging_ her across the ground like she's nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

Betty wrestles in his grasp, turning onto her side as her vision bursts with white spots, and she sucks in a breath to clear it. With one hand still curled around her gun, she pulls the trigger with increasing speed in an effort to get it to work. She lets out a frustrated groan, contemplating tossing it at his head instead, foot kicking in his hold but doing little to even jiggle his hulking arm.

He’s pulling her across the clearing, heading for the line of trees opposite of where she started, and her heart pounds. What if he’s heading to his den?

"Let me go, you werewolf asshole!"

She rakes her free hand across the ground, nails clawing against dirt and grass in an attempt to slow him down, get away. Writhing, twisting, curling her chest toward her legs, she tries anything and everything to make his task harder for him.

It's all futile.

He offers a menacing growl in response, stopping momentarily to shake her leg as if _he’s_ frustrated with _her_. His talons are nearly poking through the leg of her pants, and she wants to huff because she just bought those.

Flicking out the cylinder of her gun, she spins it before swinging it back in, thumb pulling down on the hammer. It clicks, and her breath hitches. She still has four shots. Attention turning back toward his face, she sees the snarl of his bared teeth before his face turns up to the moon, pensive. Then, he’s letting go of her leg.

Betty hears a tick-tock echo in her ear, and she feels the seconds counting down—their time is almost up. He turns on his heel, crouching down to take off, and something bursts in her chest that feels akin to rage.

“Oh no you don’t,” she hisses, picking herself up and pushing off from the ground to launch herself at his back in record time. Her arm swings around his neck in an attempted chokehold, if she could manage the pressure (she can’t), but her momentum manages to knock them forward and they topple to the ground.

Right in the center of those flowers.

He takes the brunt of the fall, rightfully so, but soon enough, he’s lifting himself up and attempting to shake her off like she’s just a little bit of water.

Her head spins, and she squeezes her eyes shut before tilting sharply to the side so that she can pull them back down again, shoulder slamming into the ground and forcing a grunt from her lips as she kicks a leg against his thigh.

His hand rips her arm away from his neck, and she whimpers, turning flat on her back as he climbs over her, pinning the wrist holding her weapon to the ground.

Betty takes in a breath. That cloying, sweet scent that had smelled like absolute danger fills her lungs. Her eyes open, and the first thing she sees is a big drop of drool about to fall from his jowls, his snarling teeth nearing close to her face. Her head turns to the side, and it lands on her cheek with a wet plop that makes her cringe and squirm underneath him.

“That is foul,” she mutters. “You don’t have any manners.”

Dragging her free hand across her cheek, she clears her face of saliva before wiping it over the flowers at their side. Something tingles across her palm, shooting up her arm, and her attention falls to her palm, red streaking up her skin from their tussle on the ground.

She had forgotten about the blood—or what had initially looked like blood.

Blinking suddenly becomes difficult, mouth drying as heat burgeons over her skin. It warms her up, the chill in the air unnoticeable in comparison. This… is wrong… something is...

Her eyes flutter, face turning back to the werewolf hovering over her. She's astounded by the steel-blue of his eyes nestled within the dark grey of his face. They’re oddly comforting, if not familiar. His expression has softened, and he’s quietly _panting_ over her. It feels good, blowing gently across her neck, and she tilts her head back, exposing her throat to him.

_What are you doing?_

The gun falls from her hand, her fingers trembling. He lets go of her wrist, and her fingers sink into the fur of his uninjured shoulder. It's softer than she imagined.

His eyes dart to her hand then back to her face, and she could almost swear he is _frowning_. Chest pressing down against her own, he makes a grumbling noise, and she realizes her shirt has ridden up—his fur brushing against the bare skin of her belly. His snout nudges her cheek, wet and warm, and the absurd thought of him licking her flashes to the forefront of her mind.

She wonders absently how his tongue _would_ feel. On her cheek. Across her collarbone. Buried in her cunt.

This is…this is…

Betty licks her lip, watches as he follows the movement, and can’t help but grin.

He arches his back, pressing her against the ground as his head tips up to howl at the moon. It sounds primal—_possessive_—and it echoes in her blood like he’d sang just for her. He looks back down with a forlorn expression, before his snout nudges her cheek again in a tender motion.

Then it begins.

His arms cage her in, claws burying into the ground by her shoulders as he lifts to his knees. The sound of bones breaking and reforming makes her flinch, her heart beating wildly, aching in sympathy at the pained growl falling from his throat. Hair recedes from his body, teeth and jaw shrinking, snout sinking in—he dips his chin away from her.

Somehow, he maintains most of his size during the change. The width of his shoulders looks just as broad as before, hovering much the same distance away from her body. His biceps and forearms are straining, muscles on display, and she wants to run her fingers up and down the smooth skin.

Finally, he brings his head back up, and through the locks of raven hair falling into his face, he opens his eyes to look at her.

She takes in a breath, her stomach flipping. “_Jughead_?”

A noise rumbles from his throat in a way that makes her want to curl up to his chest—his very bare chest—that she has only seen a time or two in her lifetime.

“Don’t hate me.”

Words rush out of her throat, her hands jumping to action as she lifts them to cup his face. “Never,” she says resolutely. This complicates the situation of their friendship, but it doesn’t destroy it. “I could never.”

Jughead’s lip curves up, half-way between a smile and a smirk, and then, he’s leaning into her, so close their noses nearly touch. “Good.”

Her hands slide into his hairline, arms flexing as she accommodates the change in position. His breath fans over her lips, and she squirms, her face tilting up on instinct. His tongue darts out to lick at her lower lip, and it’s like he’s ignited a fire from ash to ember. She wants to burn with him.

“Betty…”

The inflection makes her start, realizing she’s been petting him. Her fingers card through his hair, pushing silky, sweat-slicked strands back off his forehead. Stilling, her thumb brushes against the small tear in his ear, already clotted with blood, then over the graze on his shoulder.

She wants to kiss it—him. Make it all better.

He bends his head in to her neck, lips at her pulse, and she feels dizzy. Everything is out of focus, and she fights to blink the haze away as she stares at the moon. A hand grips her hip roughly, and it sends a shock down her spine. Each touch is unexpected and new, but she can’t help but crave every one. She needs more, needs _him_.

She always has.

A lock breaks open, her secrets threatening to spill from her lips like a river rising in a flood. Her chest aches, and she bites her tongue, squeezing her eyes shut as that ember of fire roars to life when Jughead licks a stripe from her collarbone to her jaw. His tongue is rough and wide, warm on her skin. The action sends a pulse of desire through her limbs, and though it feels familiar, it escalates into a hunger that is all consuming.

Betty’s mouth falls open, hands grabbing at his neck and shoulders for any kind of purchase as she arches up. “Again,” she says, her voice a whisper in the wind.

His tongue and teeth scrape over the skin below her jaw, lips sucking until her fingers are twisting in his hair as she squirms. His teeth graze her over and over, lightly biting and bringing more blood to surface but never quite breaking the skin. He licks over the bruise, tongue like a soothing balm, and eases the sting of his teeth. A pleased hum rumbles from his throat—she feels it as her nipples drag against his chest in a heaving breath.

Nipping up to her ear, Jughead flicks his tongue against the lobe. “Like this?”

_You're cruel_, her brain jumbles together as her skin continues to light itself on fire. She feels like a kaleidoscope, each breath altering the patterns that have drawn themselves across her vision.

He chuckles in her ear, pressing a knee between her legs to pry them apart. "I'm not trying to be. _Yet_."

Her lips are loose after all.

Knees falling to the side, Betty scratches a hand down his back to settle at the waist of the tattered remains of his jeans. They're all but shredded from mid-thigh down, and the only thing still intact are the striped suspenders hanging from his waist. She slides a hand into the pocket and squeezes his ass, pulling his hips toward her so that his weight settles against her pelvis.

"I can be cruel too," she says with a pointed roll of her hips, enticing the hard line of his erection.

He grunts in her ear, fingers digging into her hip so sharply she expects a bruise will flourish before they’re done.

She blinks. What… _are_ they… doing…

It hurts to think too deeply—to reason with herself about the actions they’re taking, the things they’re not saying—but the words are written between the lines of their pages, a footnote at the bottom marking all the spots they’ll need to return to later.

When Jughead pulls her knee up to hook around his hip, situating himself between her legs so he can rut against the apex of her thighs, there’s only one word that echoes in her head.

_More_.

A moan tips her head back into the ground as all of the heat simmering under her skin bubbles to a boil. For a brief second, Betty feels like she might combust if he doesn’t fuck her.

_Right. Now_.

“Please”—she breathes—“I need you.”

He pulls away to lean onto his elbow, hand coming up to grip her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes are mesmerizing—so black she can see her own wide gaze reflecting back at her. “Need me where?”

“Everywhere.”

The grin that splits across his face is feral as his thumb slides up her chin to tug on her lip. “That’s my good girl.”

Her chest tightens, hips undulating as her nails dig into his backside, both hands drawing him closer by stolen inches. Her teeth catch his thumb, biting gently and enjoying the way his breath hitches.

Then, three of his fingers are in her mouth, pressing on her tongue as he commands, “Suck.”

Betty gladly obliges, eyes fluttering as she hollows her cheeks around him. Running her tongue under and around, she bobs her head forward until she can’t go any farther. She exhales slowly through her nose when the hand at her hip drags upward, hiking her shirt up further.

The pads of his fingers slide over each curve of her ribs until he reaches the band of the lace bralette.

“You know, it takes a while for all my lupine traits to fade after transformation.”

She nods, continuing to wet his fingers with her mouth as her belly clenches with anticipation.

“I can control it fairly well though. Use it to my advantage.” He runs his tongue over his lower lip before flicking out against the air, and it’s _long_. No wonder it felt so good over her neck.

_She wants it buried in her cunt_.

A finger hooks under the band of her bra, a very _sharp_ claw grazing her skin, and she shivers. He slices the fabric with a quick motion, and her knees clench around his hips, the denim protesting. His nails trace back down her side, and even with the gentle pressure, she can feel how dangerous he is, how he could rip her to nothing but flesh and bone even like this.

Betty nearly chokes on his fingers as desire shoots straight down her spine.

“It’s a weakness too, though, because you smell so fucking amazing. Like a drug I can’t get enough of.” His chest heaves like he’s struggling to breathe, to stay calm. Restrained. But his fingers sink into the fabric at her shoulder to pull it away from her body before his nails rake down in a slash.

She hums in satisfaction as he does it again, tearing the side of her shirt to nothing but shreds. He draws a thin red line from the curve of her breast to her hip, a shiver chasing his touch down her spine.

“I can always smell you, even across town, after the full moon. Fresh from the shower, a work out—it doesn’t matter. I could find you in a crowd in a second.”

Jughead slips his fingers under the waist of her pants, and any protests about their newness, their perfectly fine button and zipper are lost somewhere in the back of her mind as he slices through the denim.

“And now—I can smell how much you want me. Your cunt is dripping wet _for me_,” he growls, fingers pushing farther into her mouth as he grinds his hips down against her.

Her hand flies up to yank on his wrist, pulling his fingers from her mouth with a wet _pop_. “Why don’t you see if I taste as good as I smell then?” It’s not _actually_ a suggestion.

He practically purrs. “My pleasure.”

Before Betty can even make sense of it, he has her flipped onto her stomach.

She whines, grabbing at handfuls of flowers as the world rights itself. The thick floral smell fills her lungs, sweet and herbal, as she sucks in a breath. Jughead’s raking his nails over the back of her pants, nails barely touching her but making her rise out of her skin all the same. “I think you mean, _my_ pleasure.” The words tumble from her lips as she raises her hips, allowing him to pull the tattered denim down.

A hand smacks across her ass making her jolt. Her teeth sink into her lip, core fluttering as if crying out for his cock.

“Such a smart mouth. Where’s my goody two-shoes, prim, and proper Cooper at?” He tugs her jeans down to her knees before pulling her hips into the air and forcing her to all fours.

“I live to be contrary.” She lifts each leg in turn as he pulls her jeans the rest of the way down, taking her boots off in the process. Her palms grind a patch of flowers into the ground as she braces herself, knees spreading to accommodate him. His fingers run along the soles of her feet, thumb pressing into the arch, before sliding up her calves with a slowness that takes her breath away.

“An enigma more like it,” Jughead breathes along her lower back, hands gliding in exploration over her skin, taking all the time in the world. He traces what she thinks is a crown into the back of her thigh before grabbing her hips, nails still sharp as he tilts her to his liking. His tongue runs over the bare skin beneath the line of her underwear, and she shudders. “So sensitive.”

“I’ve never had anyone touch me like this.”

His hands still, thumbs hooked under the pale pink cotton. He chokes on the next word, “Never?”

She shakes her head slowly, before looking over her shoulder at him. He’s got his nose and lips pressed into her lower back, eyes drinking her in like he wants to devour her—and she _wants _him to. She’s never wanted anyone else.

He presses a kiss to the base of her spine before straightening and sliding his hands up her sides to ruck her shirt above her chest. His palm runs up the length between her breasts and back, nail catching under the thin fabric of the impractical bow which ties the whole thing together.

Betty glances back to watch as he slices through the satin in what feels like slow motion. When the lace falls away, he leans over her, palm returning to her sternum, with his fingers spread, nearly encompassing her entire chest. She leans forward into his hand.

“Take your shirt off.”

With shaking limbs, she raises one arm to tug at the sleeve of the untattered side, shrugging out of it until she can whip it over her head as he supports her. She wonders if he can feel the racing beat of her heart beneath his fingers, the pump of her blood that’s screaming his name.

“So pretty,” he groans, the heat of his breath against her neck, before he plucks at the remains of her bralette, and it falls away from her in a couple of snaps.

She shoves the scraps out of the way, bracing herself once more. “I thought you were supposed to be _tasting_ me.”

He leans up, pulling her underwear until it’s cutting into her, and rubbing a hand over the curve of her ass. She sucks in a breath as something explodes in her chest, sweat breaking out along her brow in anticipation.

“Are you being such a brat, because you _want_ me to hit you? All you have to do is ask, Betty.”

“Please,” she begs in a rush, tripping over her own tongue. “S—spank me.”

Jughead’s palm makes contact—harder this time—and the sting on her bare skin pulls a gasp from her throat. It fans the fire in her blood, stoking the heat and flames until they’re gnawing at her spine. Tears prick the corner of her eyes, and she drops her chin to press her forehead against the ground.

“Jug—”

“Don’t worry,” he assures so smoothly it feels like velvet wrapped around her throat, “I’ve got you,” and he tugs her underwear down just enough to spread her pussy with his thumbs. He licks a wide strip all the way up from her clit, and she _screams_.

His tongue swirls, dipping into her entrance before thrusting into her. She tilts her hips forward, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue, _holyfuckingshit, _fills her, curling and hitting the spot her fingers can never quite reach.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, tongue chasing at the arousal that’s close to dripping down her thighs. “Better than any of my dreams. I’m going to eat nothing but this pretty cunt for the rest of my life.”

Betty teeters in a delicate balance between not being able to speak at all and moaning a chorus of the word _yes_ as he laps at her, tongue thrusting in and out. He withdraws to circle her clit in a slow, tight circle, and her toes can’t help but curl. Trembles begin to wrack her whole body, cracking whips of pleasure sweeping over her with each pass. He does a figure eight, and his name spills from her throat in a yelp.

Now blunt nails dig in against her hips, carving shallow crescent moons that ache with familiarity. He pulls her back against his mouth, and she claws at the ground as her thighs continue to shake.

“That’s it. I want you to come for me.”

Her release finds her—too much, too fast—and it’s back arching, body tensing bliss as her jaw drops open. Betty's silent, hips rolling against his tongue once, twice, before he takes over completely and holds her still as his tongue works her through the onslaught of pleasure. She feels bubbly and light, like a glass of champagne guzzling down his throat, as he consumes her.

She’s panting when she finally remembers to breathe, her clit throbbing through his continued attention. Lifting her head, she pushes up onto her elbows, tossing her ponytail from her face. “Jug,” she squeaks, jumping as her nerves spark, and her walls flutter, trying to crawl away from the torture of his mouth.

“No,” he growls, holding her firmly in place and slithering an arm up to cup her breast in his hand. His fingers pinch the hard peak of her nipple, and she tosses her head to the side, pressing her cheek to the ground. “Again.”

“I _can’t_.”

“You can.” He rubs her nipple between his fingers, flicking the nub until she’s pushing into his hand, and panting out short breaths. Before she can catch up, he places a thumb over her clit, tapping and spreading the combination of his saliva and her arousal over the bundle of nerves. “For me?”

Betty can only whimper.

His lips buzz against her, the hum of affirmation making her squirm and rock back as he sucks at her clit. His fingers trail from her hip to slide through her folds and circle her entrance, dipping in The flutter of her heart increases until she’s sure that it’s going to beat out of her chest. She lets out a groan of frustration, craving more and less all at once, but before she can complain he slides two fingers in.

“Oh my god.”

He’s smirking, that prick.

“Fuck you,” she groans, shaking and grabbing at the flowers underneath her palms. His fingers pump, wrist flexing until he’s up to his knuckles, before he curls his fingers and makes her eyes flutter.

“If you can’t handle this, how are you going to take my cock, Betty?” His tone is low, gravelly, and his breath blows over her clit as he works her with his fingers. They’re seeking—stretching her—as he rubs the front wall of her cunt, and she gets even wetter. He pulls nearly all the way out before a third finger joins, and she tenses.

She doesn’t have an answer for him.

“Werewolf got your tongue?”

Rocking back onto his fingers, she huffs. “I can take it.”

“I know you can. You’re doing so well already.” His praise raises a flush across her already warm face as he talks into her cunt. “I need you to come for me again. Get you nice and relaxed. Can you do that?”

She nods even though he can’t see it. “Yes.”

Jughead murmurs an affirmation then sucks at her clit, pistoning his fingers in and out, and it takes hardly any time at all for her to start squirming under the relentless attention.

His breath, his tongue, his lips, and his fingers—even his hand on her hip, rocking her back onto his tongue—in combination with the thought of his cock filling her to the brim have her chewing on her lip until it’s swollen, her moans spilling over unbidden.

Betty thought that the first orgasm would abate the burn, ease the throb of her clit, but if anything, it made things worse. Her cunt ached even with his fingers inside her. She could feel down in her bones how desperate she was for him, and she wasn’t sure she would ever get enough.

This felt… it felt...

“Jug—I’m _close_,” she breathes, eyes fluttering, watching the hypnotizing sway of the red flowers in front of her nose. Her fingers curl around the stem of one, crushing it in her palm as she grabs and claws at the ground.

Heat bursts behind her eyelids when his tongue slides over her clit, lips sucking as he lavs over the nerves, pulling a needy keen from her throat.

He holds her steady while pleasure coils in her groin until it’s _right there,_ and all she has to do is reach out and take it.

His fingers crook up _just so_, and she tips over the edge, quicker this time, like a freefall. Her mind blanks, and for a second, there’s nothing. It feels better than she could have ever imagined.

She comes back to herself just as Jughead pulls his mouth away, and all she hears is the sound of his zipper.

“Up. I'm going to fuck you now.”

He nudges the inside of her knee, and Betty lifts until her arms are straight, palms to the ground as he pushes her stance wider, underwear cutting into the sides of her thighs until she feels they might tear completely. Her cunt clenches when the head of his cock slides through her folds, just wetting himself in her slick.

Fingers trail up the dip in her spine, and the touch is so light that it raises the hairs on the back of her neck. His fingers are wet, drawing lines across her back with her own arousal. Then, a single fingernail sharpens, pressing in just below her left shoulder. It drags against her skin in slow-motion, pain merging into pleasure as she realizes he’s drawing a crown into her skin for real this time.

Cheeks flushing down into her chest, Betty bites her tongue to keep from moaning. Her blood feels sticky and wet welling up under his finger, and he wipes it away with his thumb. Her vision fills with spots as he undulates against her, and she hears him suck on that very same finger.

“_Mine_,” he growls, lips pressing against the wound and making her back arch with a quiet gasp. “A mark for a mark.”

“I don’t think that’s remotely the same thing—” but she pauses to hold her breath when his hand curls over her hip, pulling her back to meet his cock as he slides into her. "_Fuck_."

As big as three of his fingers felt, this is so much more in the best way imaginable. Her walls flutter around him, adjusting to the stretch and burn. The pain is less than she expected, considering he feels like he could very well split her in two, but the thought does salacious things to her imagination as her core both tightens and relaxes all at once.

Jughead's palms cup her hips, rubbing into the skin in a soothing manner. He inches in a bit more, and she almost feels it in her throat. "You're so tiny. Feels so good—so tight—around my cock."

When his thighs touch the backs of her, the open denim feels rough and scratchy and she pants, blinking in and out of focus. Her nails dig into the ground until she’s sure she’ll be cleaning dirt from beneath her fingernails for days, but she never wants this to end.

It feels… this feels _right_.

“Move, Juggie.”

He shifts against her, holding her steady for him to pull out and rock back into her. A groan leaves his lips, accompanying the lewd sound of their coupling. It’s like a hymn and an appreciation for her that she feels deep inside, a warmth that chases down her spine. Tilting her hips back, she meets each of his shallow thrusts with increasing enthusiasm.

“That’s it. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Everything he says sounds like _sin,_ and she wants to drown in it. She wants this to last forever. She _needs _him to fuck her into the ground until she’s a writhing, wanton mess begging for him to fill her up with his come and then do it all over again. Immediately.

His hand pushes down on the middle of her back, and she drops to her elbows at his behest. The angle of his cock changes inside of her, hitting the spot that makes her want to melt into the ground and never rise again. “Yesyesyes. _Harder_.”

Jughead pulls her back onto him more feverishly at her request, hips snapping forward. The juts of his hip bones hit her with each thrust, and her clit throbs until she’s aching and quivering. Release is on the tip of her tongue and she wets her lower lip, feeling like her skin is buzzing all over like a million little fireflies.

Eyes closed, she gets lost in the easy back and forth, breath hitching higher as they jolt forward with each movement.

There’s a cacophony of voices that echo in her ear, but the loudest sounds like him, like Jughead. He’s saying her name, and it’s the only thing she can make sense of.

—”_Betty_.” His hand is at her neck, lifting her ponytail from over her shoulder only to fist the end of it and yank.

Her neck cranes up, back bowing with a whimper as white hot pleasure ripples down her spine.

“More,” she chokes, lost to anything but him. “I’m—I’m going to come—.”

“Not yet,” he tutts, hips slowing to a leisurely glide. “You come when I say you do.”

_Fuck_. She moans, clenching her cunt around him. “Then you have to stop talking like that.”

Another tug on her ponytail brings her back up on shaking arms. He bends over her back, belly and chest covering her, and presses his weight down on her until she’s sure she might just collapse. “Like what?” Jughead breathes into her ear, hot and wet as his tongue swipes over the hollow of her jaw.

She takes a breath in through pursed lips, focusing on the ground as her mind wages war with the burn in her veins. “You _know_ what.”

Rocking his hips against her, he delivers a deep thrust that has her jaw dropping on a moan. “You mean you don’t like it when I tell you how good you feel? How your pretty little cunt makes me want to lose my mind?”

Betty can’t help but clamp down around him.

“What about when I tell you that I want to fill your cunt with my come and then fuck you again and again?” He lets out a pant against her neck, nose nuzzling her jaw. “I want you to walk around our shitty little town with my come dripping down your thighs.”

Her teeth bite into her tongue until the metallic tang of blood brings her back to herself. “Jughead,” she warns.

“I want everyone to know that you’re _mine_.” His lips pave a path down her shoulder, until his tongue glides over the mark he claimed her with. It sends a shiver down her spine, heat pooling in her belly in a way she never expected. His hand slides around her hip to rub at her clit, drawing her back up in an arch and exposing her throat to his wandering mouth. He nips at the skin, his teeth along her tendon igniting a burn that races up her spine. “This cunt is mine”—his thumb moves to circle a nipple, not quite touching where she needs him most—“these tits are mine”—his fingers grip her jaw roughly, turning her head over her shoulder—“and this mouth is mine—” and his lips claim hers.

Her heartbeat skips, stuttering in her chest as her eyes dip closed. The last thing she sees are Jughead’s eyes, his gaze dark, and it elicits a primal feeling in her gut. She _wants_. She wants more than anything to just _be_, and as his lips move, slow and tender over hers, she thinks maybe he’s the key to it all.

_Oh no_.

Betty squeaks into his mouth, tipping over into another release that begins to ripple through her limbs with a slow shudder. His teeth bite into her lip with a growl, shoving her chin away to reach down and pinch at her clit.

“What did I say?”

She inhales, squirming against his grip as everything screeches to a halt. A hand scrambles to wrap around his wrist, hips seeking the friction he won’t allow. Tipping into madness is more of a possibility than she thought.

Jughead rubs her clit between his fingers, and she _spasms_.

“You—you told me not to come unless you said so,” she chokes out, frustration buzzing under her skin.

“That’s right. Now what are you going to do?”

“I—I don’t”—she lets out a slow breath—”I won’t do it again.”

“Good. You’re doing so well. One little slip is ok. We’re all human after all.” His grin feels feral against her neck, and she shudders. He releases her, and she almost sighs before he brings his palm down over her clit in a slap that makes all of her insides cinch tight and goosebumps erupt along the nape of her neck and arms.

“Now lean up,” he instructs, tugging on the hair still wrapped around his fist, and Betty follows the tingle of her scalp, raising to stand on her knees. “Perfect.”

They shift, and she moves gingerly as he sits back on his heels, keeping her close with an arm around her belly. Her thighs are spread wide over his own, underwear stretched just short of tearing, back to his chest.

“Put your hands in my hair.” Jughead presses a kiss to her neck that feels like a swarm of butterflies taking flight in her belly as he tilts her head to the side, fingers releasing her ponytail to rest in the dip of her waist.

She raises her arms, lifting them back until she feels silk beneath her fingertips. Threading her fingers through the thick locks, she grips tighter and tighter until he grunts in her ear.

Hand on her waist and hip, he lifts her up, and her thighs tremble with exertion as she drops back down to impale herself on his cock. It makes her eyes roll back in her head, hips grinding down on his lap as she feels the throb of him inside her.

“Shit. You’re so—so huge, Jug.”

“Good. Your cunt is going to ache tomorrow, and it’s because of _me_.” His hand slides from her waist to pet down the neatly trimmed hair on her mound, fingers dropping to the point of their connection to trace up and down either side of her folds. He rocks up into her with each of her downward movements and she sighs, relishing the relief the fullness his cock brings. “And the day after that. And the day after that. Because I’m going to fuck you every chance I have.”

Jughead’s fingers slip up and over her clit, wet and warm, and she mewls as he rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Her fingers tug on his hair, bringing him down to her, so he can brush his lips over the slope of her neck. Arching her back, she ignores the tremble in her thighs as he fucks up into her.

Stroking her in tight circles, he rubs his thumb over the hood, and her nerves spark from limb to limb. Her cunt clenches around his cock, core tightening and squeezing until her name falls from his lips in a mantra.

“You want my come that badly?” He asks, tipping his head into her tugging fingers.

“I _want_ your come. I need _you_.”

“Jesus—” he groans, shuddering. His movements speed up, driving up into her harder as his breath becomes shallow. “Come with me. I want to feel you around my cock, milking me.”

She nods helplessly, rocking her hips against the friction of his fingers while he fucks her, and then, his cock hits her _just right_—and she’s lost to the crescendo of the symphony he’s conducting. The pressure releases like water rushing out of a broken dam, flooding her limbs until she’s shaking with it—her entire body trembling as she feels Jughead swell, her name a whisper on her neck.

When he stills underneath her, hand holding her hip down, she knows he’s lost too. She feels the warmth of him deep inside, and part of her wants to hold onto him forever.

Betty sighs, coming down like a light breeze—soft, airy, and utterly _spent_.

She almost doesn’t register when he lifts her hips to slip out of her, but she misses the warmth, the fullness of him, and whines. But then he’s cupping her cunt with his hand, and his fingers swirl over her folds and dip into her, gathering the mess of their come.

“Let’s get cleaned up, hmm?” He brings his fingers up, thumb dragging down her lip as she willingly opens her mouth for him.

Their combined taste is salty on her tongue, tangy and sharp, musky, and perfectly _them._ She brings a hand down from his hair to wrap around his wrist, holding him as she sucks on the digits.

For the first time that night, she thinks going after a werewolf wasn't the worst idea she's ever had.

*****

Light warms Betty's upturned cheek, her eyes fluttering open to watch the midday sun filtering in through thin curtains. It only takes a moment to blink the sleep from her eyes until she's awake enough to catalogue where she is... and that she's definitely not at home. Nor alone.

Her head throbs as she twists her neck to peek over her shoulder. Jughead is still asleep, his arm curled protectively over her hip in a heavy drape.

Decidedly not a dream then. Confirmed.

Her entire body is proof of their joining the night before. She can still _feel_ it. There’s a soreness in her legs—her cunt—and in her back, extending up to her neck where his teeth had made a home.

Thinking back on the evening, every detail plays like a movie behind her eyelids—covered with a hazy film that she can't seem to wipe away.

She should be embarrassed, but she neither can nor wants to find the strength.

Except, regardless of any desires she has to stay, she needs to leave. And soon.

Slipping out from Jughead's arm and the thick, cozy blanket, she touches her toes to the hardwood. It's a cold that slides up her legs, and she shivers despite the heat in her cheeks. Her lack of remaining clothes is apparent, and she wraps an arm around her chest before glancing back at Jughead.

He looks so peaceful—relaxed. She stoops down to brush a longer curl from his forehead, her lips taking its place in a lingering press.

Longing fills her chest, stomach churning with dread as she turns on her heel, her back to him.

She scoops up a red and black flannel from the floor, pulling it on. It hits her mid thigh and covers her hands, she folds the cuffs up once before buttoning it all the way up. Her boots are nestled neatly in the bottom of his closet and they look right at home amongst his things. The sight is more domestic than she ever would have expected less than eight hours after fucking in the middle of the forest. She chews her lip.

It's incredibly hard to resist the urge to just crawl back into bed with him.

Even with the cover of his clothing, she feels incredibly exposed as she pulls on her boots. Glancing around, she narrows in on the shreds of Jughead's pants. Reaching into the back pocket—the likes of which she very vividly remembers sliding her hand into and _squeezing_—she removes the pair of cotton underwear she knew he’d managed to tuck away at some point.

They're still intact but dry and scratchy as she pulls them over her thighs. They'll have to do.

She only takes a moment to admire the log cabin, her gaze lingering on a black and white picture on the wall. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she takes it down, flipping the frame over. Her fingernail scratches along the deeply set writing along the back, the work of a fountain pen no doubt.

_Forsythe Pendleton Jones I & II, 1974_

Turning the frame around, she sets it back in place, admiring the young man in the photo with a baby in his arms. He's wearing a newsboy hat, and she can't help but think that some things must run in the family.

Her gun is on the small table in the kitchen, standing out against the wood in a way that makes her feel sick.

Betty picks it up, milkshake charm tinkling as it clicks against the metal. In a quick tug, she unloops the strand wrapped around the grip and sets the charm on the table in place of the gun.

As she leaves the cabin, it's with the assuring knowledge that she'll see him again—it's hard to avoid anyone in Riverdale even if you wanted to—that she's able to convince herself to go.

A myriad of thoughts swirl in her brain as she runs, wind whipping through her loose, bedraggled ponytail. She's not looking forward to what her mother will have to say about any of what had transpired, but now she knows for certain that Reggie Mantle was not killed by her werewolf. And she'll fight for him.

Every fairy tale has a bloody lining. Every one has teeth and claws.

And this is hers.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> ight, imma head out now.
> 
> [lilibug--xx](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com)


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